endlessly upward
by assassinactual
Summary: When everything's over and the worst hasn't happened. A series of Root and Shaw stories in a universe where Samaritan is defeated and everyone is alive and happy and okay.
1. villa del refugio

She feels fuzzy, heavy. Warm. Awareness comes slowly. She wonders for a second if she's been drugged. But there's no pain from an injection, she's not tied up, she's in her own bed, and she can hear Root in the kitchen. She blinks a few times, squinting against the golden-yellow early morning sunlight filling the room.

Just … sleepy, Shaw finally decides. Not tired. The sort of soft sleepiness that comes with waking up slowly when her body decides it's ready and a good full night of sleep.

It's odd, for her. Usually she snaps instantly into alertness, taking in everything around her and ready to face any threats. Feeling comfortable and safe enough to fully let her guard down like this is rare.

Though it has been happening more often recently.

She props herself up on her elbow to check the clock sitting next to the lava lamp on the bedside table. It's early still, earlier even than her alarm would've woken her if Root hadn't turned it off. She seemed to think Shaw needed a good rest after chasing a number across the country and back.

A feeling of sluggish heaviness fills her when she considers getting up to join Root. Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong.

Judging by the sounds from the kitchen she's still in the process of cooking breakfast. And she'll undoubtedly come to get Shaw when it's ready.

So she lets herself fall back onto the pillow and into the feeling of hazy warmth, almost instantly slipping into a fuzzy half-sleep.

/

Some time later – she can't be sure exactly how long – she becomes aware of the half-closed bedroom door creaking open, and light footsteps approaching the bed.

"Hey, sleepyhead." Root's voice is low, soft. It floats though the sleepy fog surrounding her.

She thinks of reaching out to pull Root back into bed. Or maybe just asking her. Just for the extra warmth. She tries, but gets out only a formless groan.

Root's hand touches her face ever so lightly, then her thumb brushes some stray hair from Shaw's face. "Sameen." Finally she cracks an eye open.

"Mmhmm."

"Good morning, sweetie," Root says as a brilliant smile spreads across her face. "I made pancakes."

Suddenly, Shaw feels much more awake.

"Well, why didn't you say that earlier?"

/

Breakfast is mostly silent, as usual.

Shaw is too busy devouring her almost comically large portion of pancakes for conversation, and Root is too captivated watching her. As usual.

She pauses between bites to look at Root. Instead of her dreamy fascination, she's wearing a more restrained look of contentment while she carefully studies Shaw's face. She notices Shaw looking at her and the content smile twists into a little smirk.

"Miss my cooking while you were away?"

Shaw doesn't answer right away. She takes a second to slice off a bit of pancake and spear it on her fork. She looks Root dead in the eye and says "No." Then she shoves the forkful of syrupy pancake into her mouth, holding eye contact while she chews it.

/

They clean up the dishes together. Shaw doesn't really pay attention to her work, or the half of a conversation between Root and the Machine she can hear. Instead, she focuses on Root's effortless movements as she dances around the kitchen putting the dishes away. On the strands of hair that have come loose from her messy bun to frame her face and fall around her neck. On the way the sun will sometimes catch her eyes just right and light them a brilliant burning gold.

Root notices Shaw staring at her of course. She doesn't question Shaw about it, though. She's annoyingly understanding like that sometimes. Allowing Shaw time to process whatever it is she's thinking about.

"We're gonna need to go shopping later," is all Root says.

Shaw grunts in response.

It's all very routine.

Shopping at the same grocery store every weekend. Taking the same route, after they've done the same weekly check of their security systems. Maybe next weekend Root will be feeling lazy and get breakfast from the café across the street. But she'll bring it to the same apartment, theirapartment, that she always does.

Predictability is dangerous. Routines are dangerous. Staying in one place, getting too attached is dangerous. Shaw learned this with the ISA. This kind of thing should make Shaw's skin crawl.

But it doesn't.

Somehow, she's stumbled into making an actual home with Root. Not just somewhere to sleep, but an actual place of their own. A refuge away from the rest of the world. Complete with a lava lamp and shag carpet. But now that she's been exposed to Root's atrocious taste in interior decoration, she can't imagine it any other way.

Shaw realizes she's been wiping the same spot on the counter for a couple minutes. She tosses the cloth in the sink and decides acting like she hadn't just spaced out is the best course of action.

"I want clean my guns first. Do you have any you need to do?"

Root smiles at her indulgently. "I'll get the cleaning kit."

/

Shaw's sitting across the kitchen table from Root. A pile of guns and cleaning supplies spread out before them. She's going through the motions of cleaning a Glock while she contemplates talking to Root.

She actually cares about telling Root things like this.

And she doesn't struggle to express herself. Sometimes she has trouble putting things in a way people will understand, but she's never had that problem with Root. Root pays attention to her, Root really listens to her, Root gets her.

So she sets the Glock down and goes for it. She nudges Root's foot in a way that might almost seem accidental. Once they make eye contact, Shaw speaks quietly and steadily.

"It's good to be home."

Root keeps their eyes locked for a long, silent moment. Shaw almost wants to look away. Then Root's thoughtful look breaks into a wide smile and Shaw knows that somehow, she gets it.


	2. the best game you can name

Hockey is not Root's favourite sport. That title goes to Shaw-watching. Even restricted to more conventional choices she'd probably rank it below football at least.

Though her opinion changes somewhat when it's Shaw playing hockey.

"Yeah! Go Sameen!" Root shouts, hopping up and down and pumping her fist in the air. So maybe she's a bit more enthusiastic than the other spectators at the Friday night recreational league game. But she's only matching the intensity of Shaw's game.

The other players are mostly soccer moms and other suburban types. This doesn't stop Shaw from playing like she's competing for the Stanley Cup and an Olympic gold medal all at once.

"Kill her sweetie!" she yells as Shaw slams one of her opponents into the boards. When play stops and Shaw skates over to the bench, Root notices a woman beside her eying her warily, and a man nervously hovering between her and his children. "Heh," she laughs awkwardly. "I just get so into it," she says, shrugging and pulling her jacket open a bit wider to show off her I'm Rooting for Sameen shirt.

/

"You wore that stupid shirt again?" is the first thing Shaw says to her when they meet outside the locker room after the game. But she's smiling, and has a sort tired but satisfied look on her face.

"I know how much you love taking it off me." She closes the distance between them, and grabs Shaw by the waist. Shaw leans into her grip. Root suddenly becomes very aware of Shaw's presence. Of the smell of her body wash, the way her still damp seems to glow, the way the zipper of her hoodie is just a bit lower than normal and she doesn't seem to be wearing very much under it.

Then one of Shaw's teammates passes them and waves at Shaw.

Root feels an irrational flare of jealousy when Shaw returns the wave. She waits until the teammate is out of sight, then slips her hands from Shaw's waist into the back pockets of her jeans and pulls Shaw flush against her body. "Mine," she growls softly as she nips at Shaw's ear.

Shaw hums in a lazy, agreeable, content sort of way.

Root reluctantly pulls away, forcing herself to disengage before she gets carried away. She takes a moment to unabashedly stare at Shaw. To memorize the sound she just made, her heavily lidded eyes,

and the way her breathing quickened just a little at Root's possessive gesture. She files these things away for later, when they're somewhere more private.

"Y'know," Root says as she gently traces the outline of a bruise from a high stick to Shaw's face, "I'm not sure this is really what Harry had in mind when he suggested you take up a hobby."

"Closer than last time, probably."

"Oh?" Root says, intrigued. She's never heard this before and she's always eager to learn everything she possibly can about Sameen Shaw. "What was that?"

A little smirk plays at Shaw's lips. "You," she says. She hands her stick off to Root, swings her bag up onto her shoulders, and walks off towards the exit. (Root is a gentlewoman, but the one time she tried to carry the bag that's almost as large as Shaw, she nearly toppled over from the weight. So now she carries Shaw's stick.)

Root spends a moment admiring Shaw as she walks away, then jogs a few long strides to catch up.

/

The walk home isn't a long one. Still, they stop at a diner along the way, Shaw being too hungry to wait. ("For actual food, Root.")

From time to time, she steals a fry from Shaw's plate while she's distracted by her burger or making periodic checks of their surroundings. Not because she's actually hungry. Just to provoke a response from her. Usually it's an adorable frown, an eye roll, or even a cute little growl when she's feeling especially hungry.

Tonight, however she gets just the tiniest hint of a smirk from Shaw. This brings a different sort of satisfaction. Knowing she's probably the one person who could not only get away with stealing food right off her plate, but amuse her by doing it.

Root becomes distracted by the way Shaw's fingers play with the zipper of her hoodie. She slides it up and down as she chews her food, always letting it end a fraction lower than where it started. Each little move revealing ever so slightly more skin.

Wait.

Sameen doesn't fidget like this.

Root should know, she's always watching her, noticing and memorizing every little bit of her. She cleans her weapons when she's feeling restless. Idly plays with Root' hair or fingers sometimes, when they're in bed not cuddling.

Not this.

This is on purpose.

Root forces herself to direct her gaze back up to Shaw's face. She finds Shaw looking right back at her, looking maybe just a little smug.

Now, normally Root is absolutely shameless about staring at Shaw. But this is Shaw taking her own game and turning it back on her. She isn't going to just give in. And she knows that in some way, Shaw would be a bit disappointed if she did.

So she steals another fry from Shaw's plate and pops it in her mouth. It's a pretty blatant cover-up, so Shaw naturally sees right through it.

"Take a few more. You're going to need the energy for what I'm planning to do to you."

"Aww. It's so cute how you think you're gonna be the one in charge." She says this in the most sickeningly sweet voice possible, even reaching across the table to pat her on the arm.

Shaw doesn't say anything, but from the competitive fire dancing in her eyes, Root knows they're definitely both going to win this round.


	3. recalibration pt 1

After the war, Root and Shaw settling back into normal life. Well, normal for them at least. Set before the others.

* * *

Shaw is so deep into exhaustion and sleep deprivation that the door of Root's hospital room opening actually catches her off guard. It takes a long moment to realize it's only Harold, and several more to lower her gun.

"Oh," he says. He doesn't flinch at the gun aimed at him, just seems a little surprised. More at Shaw's presence than being held at gunpoint by her. "Miss Shaw. I didn't think you'd still be here."

"Told her I'd stay here, didn't I?" she says with a shrug. She promised that, and other regrettable things, in the few moments Root had been awake.

Harold smiles faintly, and tries to hide it from Shaw, as he sets his briefcase and hat on the table.

"While I'm sure Root appreciates the sentiment, I doubt she will want you exhausting yourself needlessly. She is safe. The Machine is watching over her, and Samaritan's agents are no longer a threat." He shuffles closer, looks like he's going to put his hand on her shoulder before he thinks better of it and instead pulls another chair up beside Root's bed. "Get some rest, Sameen. You have certainly earned it."

She frowns, but knows he's right. She's hardly slept at all in the week since they got Harold's number. Since the day all of them, even the Machine, thought Root was dead for a few hours. In the forty-eight hours since Samaritan's defeat, she's hardly left Root's side. She knows logically that the Machine lost track of Root due to Samaritan's interference, and that that is no longer a threat. But a part of still doesn't fully trust Her.

"He's right, Sam." Root's voice comes as a feeble croak. Shaw quickly checks her vital signs on the monitor then hands her a cup of water.

"I thought I told you to rest," she says as Root sips the water.

"I will if you will. You look like you could use it."

"Are you saying I don't look good?" Shaw says. It's almost a reflex for her to engage Root and push back like this. The little bit of normalcy, and the fact that Root is awake and responding to her, is a comfort to Shaw.

"I'm saying you won't be able to protect me when you collapse from sleep deprivation in a couple hours." Root pauses to take another sip of water then she continues, obviously sensing Shaw hasn't been convinced yet. "She'll watch me, and She'll let you know if I need your help, okay?"

She feels more at ease hearing Root say this, even though her words echo what Harold just said, and Shaw's own thoughts. She gives Root a single sharp nod, stands up, and moves as if reaching towards Root. Maybe to grasp her hand or some other unusually gentle and intimate gesture. Then she remembers Harold's there even if he's pretending to be very interested in his phone at the moment, and stops herself. She covers it up by drawing one of her guns and hiding it under the blanket at Root's side.

Even though she's drugged up and barely conscious, Root still catches it and gives Shaw a little knowing look. Shaw coughs and looks away. "Just – don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

She half expects a retort like _'So I can do stupid things while you're here?'_ But Root just nods, closes her eyes, and settles back onto her pillow.

Harold bids her good night as she gathers up her coat. She merely grunts in reply as she steps out the door, suddenly feeling the exhaustion that's built up over the last few days settle on her more heavily. She stops for moment in an empty section of the hallway and looks directly at a security camera.

"You call me the moment anything happens, got it?" She waits until the camera blinks then stalks off towards the exit. Then she turns back to the camera once more and says "And I could've made it to at least midnight, okay?"

/

She barely lasts the short subway ride and walk back to Root's safe house. As she's kicking her boots off and climbing into bed Shaw mutters "Stupid know it all Machine." She's asleep the moment her head hits the pillow.

/

The safe house is one Root acquired shortly before Shaw's return. It's a nice apartment, on the sixth floor of an older building that's been modernized. The windows are a bit on the large side for Shaw's taste, but the walls are good solid brick and it's directly across from a park so there's no good lines of fire into it. Shaw checked.

But having only been occupied for a couple weeks it's not especially well stocked. Cash, guns and IDs enough for a quick getaway. A good bed in one of the bedrooms, an expensive looking leather couch, and a couple stools at the kitchen island in the open plan main room. But little in the way of food or cooking equipment.

So Shaw takes some of Root's emergency cash and sets out in search of breakfast for herself. And maybe for Root, too. She saw the kind of food the hospital expects her to eat.

/

She's sitting in a nearby café, sipping her coffee and eying the selection of pastries. She's considering what Root would like, and considering getting seconds for herself. Then her earpiece _beeps_.

" _Hey there, beautiful._ " Root's voice comes through bright and clear, obviously from the Machine. " _Wanna do something for me?_ "

"Not really," Shaw grumbles. "But I'm probably going to anyways, so just spit it out."

" _Sorry._ " Shaw scoffs at the Machine's precise mimicry of Root's not-really-apologizing tone. " _It's a bit time sensitive. There's going to be a couple hitmen in need of an emergency kneecap reduction passing by in about ten minutes._ "

Shaw perks up a bit. It's been a few days since she got any action and run-of-the-mill hitmen would be a nice change from trained Samaritan operatives.

"Wouldn't want to miss that party. Wait. Can you get someone to take some actual food to Root?"

" _Aww, it's so sweet how you're worried about her._ "

She idly wonders how one would go about strangling an AI, and if She would enjoy it as much as Root.

/

About ten minutes, give or take an abbreviated gunfight later, she's speeding away from the scene of the attempted crime at the wheel of her teenage number's car. Her teenage number who isn't terrified or confused like they usually are. Instead she's studying Shaw in an inquisitive, calculating way.

"Are you some kind of bodyguard? Did my dad hire you?" she asks, apparently unconcerned by Shaw's violent maneuvering of her car.

"No. I'm a concerned third party."

This seems to satisfy her. "Oh, cool. So you're like some kind of vigilante."

Shaw doesn't say anything further, concentrating on trying to lose the one remaining hitman pursuing them.

" _Need a hand, sweetie? Or an eye, I guess._ "

"I've got it under control." A glance in the mirror shows the hitman's BMW getting disconcertingly close to her number's old Honda Civic. And he seems to be trying to aim a gun out the window. "And I'm _not_ your sweetie."

" _Whatever you say, sweetie. Left here._ " The Machine says just as they're coming to an intersection. Shaw jerks the wheel and the Civic takes a violent turn to the left, joining in with the flow of traffic. There's a _bang_ and _crunch_ behind them as the hitman, not forewarned, is t-boned by a garbage truck.

"Heh. Watch where you're going, idiot." Shaw checks on her number. She's looking at her with an odd sort of gleam in her eye. "What?"

"Who was on the phone? Do you have some kind of partner? Are you dating them?"

Shaw groans and resists the urge to bang her head on the steering wheel.

"You know, you remind of this other nosey kid I saved once."

/

When Shaw finally gets to the hospital after dropping her number off with her parents, and a quick stop to pick up lunch, she finds Root checking herself out.

"I can walk, Lurch. I was shot in the chest, not the leg. Jeez," she says as she brushes off John trying to offer her a wheelchair. Harold is behind them and appears resigned to whatever Root has decided to do. He spots Shaw first, and Root quickly notices where he's looking. Her annoyed expression quickly turns into a smile. "Sameen! Guess who got a clean bill of health?"

She seems to be excessively proud of her apparent miraculously speedy recovery. The effect is ruined a bit by the way she winces when she moves her right arm a little too much in its sling.

"Not you," Shaw says as she approaches Root. She pulls her shirt aside to check her bandages. Those are neat and well done, and she doesn't seem to be actively bleeding at least. Being in public, Root manages to restrain herself to merely leaning into Shaw's touch a bit. Shaw, used to her being much more forward, easily ignores it. "So if Harold took a look at their patient database he wouldn't find any evidence of _someone_ hacking into it?"

"He wouldn't find any evidence, no," she says with a confident little smirk.

Shaw shakes her head. She knows there won't be any changing Root's mind now that she's decided to do this. "If you bust this open," she says, gently poking Root's shoulder, "and start bleeding all over the place, you're hauling your own ass back here." But there's no real force behind her words. Root, of course, picks up on this.

"Whatever you say, darlin'."

/

John and Harold leave to get some things from the subway for Root after dropping Root and Shaw off at the apartment. (She can't live without her shag rug apparently.) Their solitude is short lived though. Lionel calls Shaw for backup less than an hour later.

Root's already said bye to her as she was packing her bag with extra ammo. Kissed her on the cheek, too, which caused Shaw groan in disgust and wipe furiously at her cheek. But as she's stepping out the door, she feels compelled to say something. To express something she's meant to tell Root for the last few days but somehow never got around to it.

Root's already engrossed in something on her laptop, and barely reacts at first when Shaw calls her name. "Hmm?" she say distractedly, taking a few seconds to pull her attention away from her computer. "Sweetie?"

"Look, I don't care if we're all just shapes or whatever. I like your shape the way it is." Root processes this for a moment, then breaks into a brilliant smile.

Shaw gives her a little nod, then leaves before she can say anything else compromising.

/

Fusco's job ends up being incredibly dull and requiring very little gunfire, but it takes most of the day. It's sometime close to midnight when Shaw wanders into the subway.

It's the third time she's been back here, but she still feels a sense of uneasiness and a prickle behind her left ear as she enters. She ignores the feeling as best she can and heads over to Root's little nest. There, she feels a bit more comfortable. Maybe because it's so different from the spartan room it was before. Maybe just because it's Root's space.

As she lays down on the bed and tries to sleep, she thinks of looking for a place of her own in the morning. With Samaritan gone, she's no longer restricted to hiding in the shadows and the subway and safe houses. Having a space of her own again would be nice.

Root's safe house isn't a bad place, and she surprisingly hasn't yet found herself wanting space away from Root. Root doesn't seem to want space either. That's the problem, really, and why she's in the subway right now instead of with Root.

She's comfortable with Root. Almost too comfortable. Too easy. Samaritan spent so long trying to trick her that there's still a little part of her that thinks it's too good to be true. Like the prickle behind her ear when she entered the subway, the urge to stay away from Root flares up sometimes, to keep her distance and keep Root safe.

But never when she's actually with Root. With her, things feel safe and real.

Fuck it, Shaw thinks, sitting up and reaching under the bed for her boots.

Fuck Samaritan.

She didn't go to war with an evil AI god just to let it dictate her life after its dead. She didn't beat it seven thousand times to let it keep her away from what she wants. It's dead, she's alive, and she's going to spend the night with Root if she wants.

/

She wakes to Root calling her name. She's surrounded by Root's scent and feels a familiar sort of safety. She's gotten used to waking up beside Root in the past couple weeks, even if she's usually the first to get up. She rolls over –

And slams down onto the floor in front of the couch, her fall cushioned slightly by Root's shag rug. "Fucking hell," she curses to herself.

Then she sees Root, standing there looking confused. "Shaw?" she says again.

Her hair's mussed and she's rubbing at one eye sleepily. Other than her black _Roots_ sweater with the _s_ cut off, she's wearing only her underwear, leaving her ridiculous long legs exposed. Shaw allows herself to stare for a moment to distract herself from how sickeningly adorable Root looks. She's so entranced by Root's legs she doesn't notice her walking over until she's practically on top of Shaw.

She cranes her neck back to see Root's face. Even in her state of sleepy confusion she seems to have picked up that something is a bit off. But she seems to be content to merely observe Shaw for now, and just holds out her left hand for her.

Shaw accepts Root's hand, and being careful not to let Root take too much of her weight and re-injure herself, allows Root to help her to her feet.


	4. recalibration pt 2

The second half of recalibration.

* * *

Root has only slept in the bed at her safe house a handful of times, and most of those have been with Shaw. She's gotten a bit too used to having her there, and without her it feels too empty and too lonely. So she wanders out of the bedroom early after a restless first night out of the hospital to find something unexpected. More precisely, someone.

Sameen, asleep on the couch.

Sameen, asleep on the couch, wrapped in Root's leather jacket.

She rubs her eyes, trying to figure why she's on the couch and not in bed. The nice, comfortable, warm bed that Root was in, and would still be in if Sameen was by her side.

"Shaw?"

She doesn't move for a second or two. Then she stirs, and starts to roll over. Root wants to warn her, or grab her to keep from falling. But her reaction time has never been up to par first thing in the morning. Especially when she didn't get a good night's sleep because _someone_ didn't come to bed.

Then there's a _bang_ , and Shaw's sitting on her ass in front of the couch.

She's torn between giggling at the absurdity of it and rushing to Shaw's side to see if she's alright. But again, her reaction isn't the best at the moment, so she does neither. Just rubs her eyes and calls her name again.

When Sameen looks at her, for a moment she has an almost soft expression that Root can't quite read, but thinks is similar to the one she wears when she sees Bear. Then it's gone, and she becomes fixated on Root's bare legs. She gets a vague sense that she should throw some sort of flirtation back at Shaw, but she's too tired and too confused to follow through.

The uncertainty she's felt a couple times with Shaw since her return creeps back in. It's an unsettling, sick sort of feeling. It leaves her off balance, unused to feeling like this with anyone, much less Shaw. Sometimes, most of the time even, it feels like they're picking up more or less where they left of a year ago, and fall into the same comfortable dynamic. Shaw has even been opening up to her, just the tiniest bit, but for her it's huge. Other times, Shaw will become more distant, and Root unsure of what to do. She's knows that sometimes Shaw expects and wants Root to pull her back in, to coax whatever it is she's thinking out of her. But Root isn't as confident that she can read Shaw, what she wants, and what her boundaries are as well as she did.

Last night, for example. After living with her for a week, then sitting by her side and taking care of her in the hospital, Shaw simply vanished. Root was worried, but the Machine said she was safe, and Root wanted to let her have her space. Showing up asleep on the couch is – well, Root doesn't know what to make of it.

She's in front of Sameen now. She looks especially tiny sitting on the floor at Root's feet. Root wants to ask her – something. But she doesn't know precisely what, and senses the time isn't right anyway.

She offers her hand to Sameen to help pull her to her up. She takes it, putting hardly any weight on Root, obviously being overly careful of her injury. Root, in what it is for her and exceedingly subtle move, pulls Sameen into her as she helps her up. Sameen lets her, rests her hands loosely on Root's hips, and even leans in to her and nestles her face against Root's neck for a moment.

The contact is brief, but she feels a familiar a familiar rush of excitement at Sameen's closeness. When she pulls back, she doesn't completely disengage, leaving them with their arms wrapped around each other and very much in each other's space.

"I, uh, got in late last night," she others without prompting. "Didn't want to wake you up." Root doesn't see any dishonesty in this, but it feels like she's leaving something out.

"I wouldn't have minded," Root says. It comes in a smaller, less flirtatious voice than she intended.

Sameen holds her gaze steadily, and gives a tiny, quick nod. Then she pulls back slightly, though still not letting go of Root. It's subtle, but Root sees the slight shift of her weight and the way her eyes drift over in the direction of the kitchen.

Trust Sameen to not let whatever's going on affect her appetite.

Root's still not quite sure about things between them right now, but Sameen is here with her. She lightly pats Sameen's ass, and says "See, that shag rug wasn't such a bad idea."

/

Later, John comes by, and brings Bear with him. Shaw lets them in, and ignores John in favour of bending down and greeting Bear. He wags his tail happily and licks her face, then makes a beeline for Root. He sits in front of the couch, resting his head on her knee and whines until she starts petting him.

"Traitor," Shaw mutters, but she comes over too and drops down to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Bear. She starts petting him between the shoulders, and leans a bit on Root's other leg.

Root watches the two of them, and smiles at how adorable they are. Then she half turns to their neglected guest. John looks just as amused by this scene as she is.

"Thought you'd appreciate the company," he says, nodding towards Bear. "And we can't take him to the university."

"Professor Whistler's still active?"

John shrugs. "Finch said he wanted to finish out the semester, at least."

"You're playing bodyguard?" John nods as he takes a step back towards the door. "Have fun terrorising college kids!" Root calls, and gives him a little wave.

Shaw seems content to sit there petting Bear and resting against Root's leg. Root is more than happy to let her, so they sit there in silence like that for some time.

As Root watches Shaw, she thinks of what the Machine told her regarding Shaw's whereabouts last night. How Shaw was in the subway, in Root's bed there, for about half an hour before returning to the safe house.

She worries Shaw is doubting reality again. Or still. They haven't talked about it since their conversation when they were rescuing Harold from Samaritan, other than Shaw assuring her that she's fine a couple times. She trusts that Shaw is telling the truth, more or less, and feels like she would come to Root if she was having problems. But she still worries.

Suddenly, Root feels Shaw's weight lift off her leg, and Shaw speaks.

"I was thinking of looking for my own place."

"Oh."

Shaw grabs Root's arm. Her fingers delicately trace over a weeks-old knife wound, a newer gunshot graze, and the spot where her IV had been. Her eyes stay fixed on Roots arm as she speaks. "But then I realized I'm not on the run anymore. My stuff's already here. So are you. I guess I can stay here. For now." Shaw looks up at Root as she finishes, but keeps her hand on Root's arm.

Root arches an eyebrow. "For now?" Shaw just holds the eye contact, and gives her a tiny little smirk.

/

In the couple weeks since Samaritan's defeat, most of the things from Root's little nest in the subway have made their way to the apartment that she's starting to think of as hers and Shaw's.

She hasn't mentioned this to Shaw yet, though. She senses Shaw isn't quite ready for that yet. And she stills feels

Some of Root's things are still left in the subway. Mostly equipment or weapons she doesn't use too often. But also a few valuable things she's keeping safe. One valuable thing in particular that she's been holding onto for Shaw is the reason she's here today. She quickly finds the flat little velvet jewelry box hidden in a crate under the bed, snaps it open to confirm the item is still there, and sticks it in her pocket.

"Miss Shaw?" Harold calls from somewhere over by his workstation.

"Hmm, not yet," Root says as she steps put into the main room. "Do you think she'd let me take her name if we got married? Might get a bit confusing."

"You're getting married? I mean – " He seems to be torn between alarm and the urge to politely offer his congratulations.

"Relax, Harry. No one's popped any questions." He sighs in relief, and mutters _'oh, thank god'_ under his breath. Too quietly for Root to catch from halfway across the station, but not too quietly for the Machine, who relays it to her. "Yet." This reminds her of the bridal magazines and a notebook full of ideas she also stashed under her bed, and she makes a note to pick that up before she leaves too.

While Harold's distracted by an alert that popped up on his computer, she pulls the box out of her pocket. Opens it, looks at what's inside, and resolves to go through with the other thing she planned to do today.

"Though I do have a different sort of proposal for you." Harold spins his chair around to face her, alarmed once more. "You're too easy, Harry. It's not bad, trust me. I was just thinking, as much fun as living like rats down here is, your old library would be much more convenient. With Samaritan gone…"

Harold looks intrigued by the idea, and he quickly agrees. "Yes, that's not a bad idea." Root's relieved. She didn't expect convincing him would be difficult but – "It's curious that you would suggest that specific place, though." – she was hoping to avoid this. "I would think this station holds much more fond memories for you than the library."

She has an answer, and knows it will convince him. It just isn't something she likes talking about.

"Did Shaw ever tell you exactly what they did to her?"

"Not in detail." She gave them all a basic rundown of the simulations and their lingering effects. But as far as Root knows, she's the only one Shaw gave a more detailed account to.

"No, she wouldn't want you to worry about her. Did she tell you how many simulations they put her through?"

"Thousands. I don't believe she ever mentioned a specific number."

"Over seven thousand iterations. She said they averaged almost a day of simulation time each. From her point of view she spent _fifteen years_ resisting them. Fifteen years of trying not to even _think_ of this place." Her voice shakes, and tears well up in her eyes, but she keeps going. "She's so strong Harry, to come through what she did. But it's left its mark on her."

Harold's expression is one of dawning horror as he puts together the bits he knows to confirm what Root's telling him. "I never thought …" he trails off, unable to find the words to express himself. Root wanders away, ending up at sitting on the bench, discreetly wiping away her tears. After a while, Harold speaks again. "I'll call John, and we'll go check out the library tonight. If everything's in order, we can start setting up tomorrow."

Root nods at him. "One more thing, Harry. Do you think you could leave out the part where I suggested this when you tell Shaw?" She has a feeling Shaw would argue adamantly against the move if she knew it was being done, at least in part, for her. Probably citing that returning to a compromised hideout isn't the best idea. Which isn't wrong, but with the primary threat to them out of the picture, there's little danger.

Harold is a bit confused at first, but seems to quickly come to the same conclusions Root did. "Of course."

/

A few days later, Shaw trudges in late in the afternoon and heads directly for the bedroom with barely a grunt in Root' direction. Root follows, curious. On the way, she notices Sameen's boots laying by the apartment door, and her coat uncharacteristically dropped on the floor in the hallway.

In the bedroom she finds Sameen, still fully dressed, sprawled out on the bed.

"Sameen," she says. Draws it out slowly and carefully the way she knows Shaw likes, and is rewarded with a little smile half- hidden by the pillow. She rolls over, flopping in an exhausted sort of way. But she looks satisfied. Content. Happy, even. "What'd you do today? She never told me about any action."

"Nah, just hauled a bunch of computer shit up to the library. Don't see why Finch couldn't have hired movers."

"That 'computer shit' is the Machine's servers, Sam," Root says, though she's pretty sure Sameen already knows this. She's also pretty sure Sameen is intentionally trying to provoke this reaction.

"Yeah, but She doesn't run on them anymore. They're just backups."

"They're what kept Her alive when She had to hide from Samaritan."

"Sentimental nerds," Sameen mutters, then sticks her tongue out at Root's mock offended face. "Come on, let's have a nap before dinner. We can just get takeout or something." Root lets Sameen pull her into bed. She's not tired, and she had a vague sort of idea of making them dinner herself, but she knows Sameen likes to have her by her side when she sleeps. ( _"For warmth, Root. That's all."_ )

She drops her phone on the bed beside her in case the Machine wants to talk, so she can text Her without disturbing Sameen. Sameen rolls back over to a mostly face down position, and her right arm flops across Root's body.

Her fingers land on the strip of skin exposed by Root's shirt riding up. Slowly, slowly, they inch up under the shirt. Once her hand's almost fully under the shirt, Sameen stops and flattens her palm against Root's skin. It's innocent – as innocent as anything the two of them do, at least. She's not trying to start anything overtly sexual. Just savouring the contact.

"Thanks." It's breathed out, barely a whisper. Sameen doesn't even appear to be properly awake anymore. Her eyes are closed and her face mostly hidden in the pillow again, but she's wearing that relaxed, content expression.

Sameen hardly ever expresses her gratitude verbally. Especially not for these little everyday things. That's what the touch is for, and other gestures like sharing her food with Root. Words don't normally mean as much to Shaw – to either of them, really – but sometimes she will put her thoughts into words when she feels like she needs to draw special attention to something.

Something like the move back to the library, for example.

She must have worked it out herself. If Harold had let anything slip she would've said so. Root feels a flood of relief knowing that Sameen has accepted this, and not interpreted it as Root thinking she can't handle herself. Shaw's desire to prove herself is so strong and she's so unused to people caring for her, even now, that she has trouble accepting favours sometimes.

Root covers the hand resting on her belly with one of her own and gives a gentle squeeze. "Anything for you, Sameen," she whispers, just as quietly as Shaw.

This, Root knows, is where she belongs. Though she still feels as if things between her and Shaw haven't returned to normal (and maybe never really will) that certainty and sense of belonging is still there. If anything, it's deepened.

She has a purpose, a direction. People who love her, a real family that she can show her real self to. And she has a sense of freedom she can't remember ever feeling. She's not on the run to the next job, or from law enforcement or enemy agents. Even in the years between leaving Bishop and meeting the Machine she never felt like this. She made her own choices, yes, but she was always looking over her shoulder, her decisions driven by old enemies and new jobs.

Now, though she's free to choose her own path, she doesn't feel the urge to change much. She's right where she wants to be.

/

It's the middle of the afternoon, and Root is sitting at the kitchen table with parts of a disassembled Roomba strewn around her and its control unit plugged in to a laptop when the Machine suddenly speaks to her.

" _Looks like Sameen's about to need a hand._ "

"Show me," Root says, and the Machine streams the relevant video feed to Root's laptop. It's not the best picture, but it's clear enough to see Shaw in some kind of warehouse, hiding behind a crate, while a handful of goons near the edge of the frame are firing automatic rifles in her direction.

Root picks up her phone, and connects directly to Shaw's over the mesh network.

"How's it goin' Sam?"

" _I'm in a bit of a tight spot here._ " Shaw's breathing is a bit heavier than normal, and the distinctive crackle of a full auto burst from an AK carries over the line.

Despite the situation – and really, for Shaw it isn't all that bad – she can't pass up the opportunity presented by Shaw's choice of words. "But you love getting in to my tight –"

" _Root._ " Root grins and almost feels like high-fiving herself. Shaw always enunciates her name carefully, but the especially hard, annoyed snap she says it with is something special.

"That's not what I was going to say. We really need to work on this finishing each other's sentences thing." Shaw pops up to return fire while Root speaks, so it takes her a while to respond.

" _Could you just get your ass down here already?_ "

"You know my ass is yours anytime you want, sweetie."

Shaw growls at her.

Root drops her phone in her pocket, but leaves the call connected. She's still fully dressed from going out for breakfast with Shaw, so she heads right to the second bedroom. She takes a couple toys out of one the gun lockers there, and grabs a few already loaded USP magazines just in case. All of that goes in a backpack, and on her way out of the apartment she takes both of their motorcycle helmets.

/

As Root's pulling up to the warehouse, Shaw says, " _I'm almost out._ " She stops just outside a wide open loading door, not thirty feet behind Shaw. Root disconnects the call and flips up the visor of her helmet.

"I got you, babe," she says as she's pulling a grenade launcher out of the backpack. Shaw hears her, turns around, and gives her a wicked grin when she sees the weapon.

It's a new one, a semi-auto model with a drum magazine. With her right shoulder still a bit tender, she fires it left handed, with the stock braced against her hip. Her aim suffers a bit, but smoke grenades don't need to be all that accurate.

With its six round magazine expended, she hurriedly stuffs it back into the backpack. The chattering automatic fire has dropped off, and a thick curtain of smoke hides the shooters. "Time to go, Shaw."

Shaw makes a fighting retreat towards Root, the last of her ammo spent precisely kneecapping her enemies through the smoke at the Machine's direction.

She takes both the backpack and her helmet, then hops onto the bike behind Root. This time rather than carefully putting her hands on the tank and leaving space between them, she wraps her arms around Root's middle and presses herself flush against her back. Root allows herself a second to savour the little thrill at Shaw's closeness before speeding off.

"Nice bike," Shaw says once they're well away from any remaining danger and in the regular flow of traffic.

"I bought it yesterday."

"You bought it? With money that was actually yours?" Shaw's disbelief is obvious, and Root is thankful her face is covered by her helmet.

"Yep." Okay, so maybe _technically_ it wasn't her money. But it's not like Samaritan is around to use it anymore. And she figures they deserve some kind of reward for saving the world and all that.

/

Root takes the extra-long way home, just to bask in Shaw being wrapped around her a little longer. Shaw doesn't seem to mind all that much, though.

/

Back at the apartment, they collapse on the couch together, both grinning and a little winded after racing up the stairs. Sameen's sitting spread out in the middle, Root laying down with her head in Shaw's lap and her feet dangling off the end.

"We should grill that steak that's in the fridge," Shaw says. Root takes a mental inventory of what other food they have.

"Have to get some stuff. Potatoes, maybe."

"Beer too," Shaw adds.

Root hums in agreement.

Something, maybe the angle Root sees Sameen's face from while laying in her lap, causes a foggy memory to stir. A promise Sameen made to her while she was in the hospital.

"Hey, Sam?" Sameen grunts. "Remember when you said that after I got out, we'd talk about us? Our relationship?"

"That doesn't sound like something I would say," Sameen says, trying to brush her off. But Root can tell, by the way she tenses a little and her breathing hitches a bit that Shaw knows exactly what she's talking about.

Root pulls herself upright and spins around to sit properly next to Shaw. "Sameen."

Sameen sighs, her unfocused stare fixed on the floor in front of them. She rakes a hand through her hair, then turns and looks directly at Root. "I can't do touchy-feely crap. I'm not gonna say _I love you_ or some bullshit because it wouldn't be real. But you're important to me, okay? That's what I can give you."

"I know, sweetie. I – " Root smiles, lets out a little chuckle, and shakes her head. This is new territory for her. Not just being at a loss for words, but feeling and wanting to express what she's trying to say to Sameen. She reaches over, slowly, gently grabs Sameen's hand. Waits for her to respond, lace her fingers into Root's and even squeeze back a little. "I'm only going to say this once because I know you're uncomfortable with it and I know saying it will never mean as much to either of us as actually showing it. I love _you_ , Sameen. Because of who you are. I don't want some cliché of a relationship. I definitely don't want you to try to change or pretend with me. I just want whatever you can give me."

Her gaze drops down to their joined hands as she speaks. Sameen runs her thumb very deliberately over Root's. She's briefly transfixed by this, always amazed when Sameen is so gentle with her. Then she takes the cue to look back up and meet her eyes again. She's sees something, some intensity there she can't read, or isn't confident she's reading correctly.

"That's really enough for you?" Sameen asks, her voice low.

She feels tears prickle in her eyes and tries to hold them back. She thinks that even with how open Sameen is being with her now, crying might be pushing it a little too far. "It's all I've ever wanted, Sam."

Sameen's face remains stoic, but she gives a little nod. Root feels the tears, happy tears, run down her face even as she smiles and laughs, so she hides her face against Sameen's shoulder.

After a while, she feels Sameen tense a bit. "Sorry," Root says as she pulls away. But the look she doesn't find any discomfort on Sameen's face.

"It's okay," she says after a bit. She flexes her arm that Root now realizes she was squishing. She tentatively settles back down beside Sameen. "You're very real. It's nice, I guess." At this, Root relaxes more, takes Sameen's hand again and squeezes it. She's almost starting to drift off to sleep when she remembers the little velvet box she retrieved from the subway a few days ago, but hasn't yet found the time to give to Sameen.

She shoots to her feet, throws a quick "Wait here," over her shoulder at Sameen, and runs off to the second bedroom. It doesn't take her long to get the box from her gun locker and return.

She falls back into her place next to Sameen, taking the opportunity to scoot a little closer and drape her left arm around Sameen's shoulders. With her right hand, she holds out the box. Sameen tenses a bit when she sees it, and Root almost wants to roll her eyes.

Instead, she flips open the box. Inside, on a red and gold ribbon with a chain strung through it, is a medal. A silver profile of a man's face, wreathed in gold, with a little red star, hammer and sickle, and banner reading "ЛЕНИН". Shaw's Order of Lenin, that Root found in the subway after her capture, and kept safe for nearly a year.

Sameen smiles a little as she takes the medal, and runs her thumb over the gold detailing and red star.

"I suppose you know the story behind this?"

"Maybe. I wouldn't mind hearing it from you, though."

Sameen studies her for a moment, then starts speaking. Root lays her head down on Sameen's shoulder and curls up into a more comfortable position against her.

This is exactly where she belongs.


	5. small town saturday night

"I let you drive _once_ and we end up here?" Shaw complains to Root, gesturing around the abandoned lot they're stranded in. They're out in the open, just off the highway in midst of wide open fields, nearly half a mile from the next town. The only cover in sight is a boarded up gas station, and a single dried-up looking tree. The afternoon sun is so hot that Shaw's already sweating only a few minutes after stepping out of the truck.

"I asked Her at the last town and She said we had enough gas," Root says.

"Oh yeah? What's She saying now?" Shaw says petulantly. She scuffs her boot on the ground, and watches the cloud of dust that creates drift away in the wind.

"That – wait, what?" Hearing Root's voice suddenly take on a tone of alarm snaps Shaw's attention to her. "Why? You don't – are you there? Can you hear me?"

Shaw walks around to the driver's side of the truck where Root is standing. "Root?" She ignores Shaw in favour of pulling out her phone and frantically tapping on it. Shaw closes the little space remaining between them. She grabs Root's arm, just gently putting a bit of pressure on her bicep to get her attention. "Hey." Root makes a final couple keystrokes before looking at Shaw. Her worried and confused look softens just a tiny bit when she notices Shaw's closeness.

"She said She's going down for maintenance."

Shaw might not be an expert, but she distinctly recalls Root explaining how they helped the Machine distribute Her operations out to various datacenters after Samaritan was wiped out. And how that made it nearly impossible to take Her down. "She doesn't do that."

"No."

"Is there something wrong with Her? Samaritan didn't give her some kind of time-delayed virus?"

Root shakes her head. "I don't think so. I think she did this on purpose."

"Like the camping trip." They spent a week in the wilderness watching another couple, only to stop them from pushing each other off a cliff then hand them over to the local police. Then the Machine told them that driving the couple thousand miles across the country back to New York would be just a great idea.

"There was an actual number," Root says reasonably.

"Which could've easily been handled in five minutes by people that weren't us." Root just shrugs. With Fusco on vacation with his son, and John and Harold on a flight to Sydney to spy on an AI development conference, they're unlikely to get any backup. It's up to the two of them to get themselves out of whatever the Machine got them into. "Come on. Let's see if we can find a functioning gas station there," Shaw says, jerking her thumb towards the town down the road.

/

"I tried every one of our cards," Root says, dropping down beside Shaw on the bench in front of the town's only gas station. "Nothing. She froze all of our accounts. And you just spent the last of our cash on junk food."

"I was hungry," Shaw says unapologetically. She pauses tearing open a bag of chips to offer the Twizzlers to Root. She takes one, and glumly pulls a bit off with her teeth.

"Come on," Shaw says, gently kicking Root's leg. "We'll find some asshole we can _borrow_ a few bucks from then get out of here."

Root rolls the rest of the Twizzler up and shoves it in her mouth. She chews thoughtfully, waiting until she's done to speak. "I don't know. I'd feel kinda bad doing that. I promised Harry I wouldn't do anything he wouldn't."

Shaw looks at her in disbelief, then accepts this and shakes her a head.

"So… hack an ATM?"

Shaw follows Root's gaze as she surveys their surroundings. To their left, a gravel road, and a wheat field beyond that. To their right, the town's main street. A single block's worth of businesses, then a church and a library before it turns into a tree lined residential street.

"Tempting, but I don't think they have one. She'd probably block us anyway. I just want to know why She seems so determined to keep us here."

"Some kind of test?" Shaw offers. She's not all that concerned with their predicament. A little annoyed, perhaps. But the Machine has usually had a good reason for Her bizarre antics. Shaw's learned to just go with the flow. "Prove we're good guys or some shit?"

"That doesn't seem like her."

"Whatever," Shaw says, shrugging. She finishes her chips, then walks over to the nearby trash can to throw out the bag. "Let's take a look around. Maybe we'll find someone who needs shooting."

Shaw offer Root her hand and pulls her to her feet. Root doesn't let go once she's standing. "No," Shaw says, letting her hand go limp in Root's grasp. Root releases it, and Shaw starts out towards the street. She's only gone a few steps when Root catches up and slips her hand into Shaw's back pocket.

/

They don't run into any murderers, or criminals of any kind, on their short tour of the town. In fact, everyone they meet is almost creepily nice. The only thing of interest they find is the flyer Root is waving in Shaw's face.

"No way, Root."

"But _Sameen_ ," Root whines.

"This is the worst idea you've had all week."

"You say that about all my ideas."

"Not the ones that involve food or sex," Shaw points out.

"Well this definitely involves food, and could involve sex if you're lucky," Root says. Shaw suspects there will be sex whether she goes along with Root's idea or not.

"Can't we just ask someone for help?" Root recoils in horror. "You're right, that's a terrible idea," Shaw admits quickly. She tries vainly to come up with an alternative, but Root staring at her and pouting distracts her. "Okay, fine."

/

The town fair grounds aren't hard to find. Most of the sparse traffic is heading that way.

They thread their way through a surprisingly large crowd. Past children's rides, vendors selling local crafts, and an assortment of probably rigged games. Past the stage where country band is playing, and finally to a booth beside it with a banner proclaiming "Hotdog Eating Contest - $500 Grand Prize."

Shaw sighs, resigned to her fate. Root links their arms and pulls Shaw along towards the booth. "Come on sweetie, let's get you signed up."

"If I puke, it's going on you." Shaw turns to face Root as she says this, to fully appreciate the way her face twists in disgust.

"That's gross."

/

Shaw hangs back a bit while Root is filling out the entry form. This is her stupid idea, she can handle the paperwork.

She's handing the form over to the overly cheery woman at the booth when a large man in a plaid shirt and a John Deere cap approaches her. She can't hear them over the noise, but can see Root shake her head and gesture toward the crowd Shaw is hiding amongst. While he's talking, Root surreptitiously checks out the crowd, and spots Shaw. Root jerks her head subtly, and makes a face which Shaw interprets as ' _get your fantastic ass over here or you're not getting laid for a week._ ' Not that Root ever successfully follows through on that sort of threat, but she will get annoyingly pouty and mopey for a few days. So Shaw sighs, shakes her head, and pushes her way through the crowd.

"Oh, there she is now!" Root says as she approaches them. Shaw resists the urge to stab someone and plasters her best dealing-with-people smile on her face. "Sameen, this is Jimbo, the reigning champion." Root seems to have slipped into speaking with a more pronounced drawl. Shaw finds it oddly attractive.

Jimbo sizes Shaw up, and scoffs. "You? The way your girlfriend was talkin' I thought I'd have some real competition."

"Oh, I'll give you competition," Shaw snarls at him through gritted teeth. He chuckles, then turns away to talk to another contestant.

Root elbows her in the side, hard. "Save it for the contest, sweetie."

/

Jimbo smirks at Shaw smugly while they're taking their places on the stage. The glare she gives him in return makes him flinch and shift his chair away from her.

As she's looking out over the crowd waiting to begin, Shaw suddenly realizes that not only will she have to stuff her face with dozens of flavourless, possibly bacteria-laden hotdogs, she'll have to do it in front of a huge audience. Root watching her eat is one thing. It's Root. It's almost endearing, in her weird way. This is making a spectacle of herself in front of a bunch of yokels.

Then she spots Root. Right in the front row, giving Shaw a broad smile and flashing her a thumbs up. Shaw chooses to focus on her, and the way she leans in and her eyes glaze over dreamily as Shaw shoves the first hotdog in her mouth.

/

Shaw does her best to hide the discomfort caused by the obscene (even for her) amount of low-grade processed meat she just consumed. She's doing pretty good compared to Jimbo, at least. He's slumped over in his chair, groaning. The first place ribbon stuck on her shirt and the stack of cash Root's counting beside her help. She feels even better after returning his smug smirk from before.

There first stop after leaving the stage is at food stall where Root buys herself a huge ball of cotton candy. Shaw declines at first when Root offers her some. They sit down at a nearby picnic table, and for once Shaw is the one watching Root eat.

Suddenly, Root stands up and shoves her cotton candy into Shaw's hands. She runs off, belatedly calling "Wait here!" over her shoulder as she goes. Shaw bides her time taking little bites of Root's cotton candy. She may have just eaten approximately her own weight in hotdogs, but they doesn't mean she's going to pass up a sugary treat.

She reappears minutes later, wearing a cap with a rainbow coloured shape of Texas on it, and a stupid grin on her face. Distracted by this, Shaw fails to notice Root's hand concealed behind her back.

"I know you missed Bear, so I got you this." She pulls her hidden hand out, revealing a stuffed toy dog that actually is reasonably close to Bear's colouring. Shaw recalls seeing similar stuffed toys as prizes at some kind of throwing game they passed earlier.

Shaw rolls her eyes, but she still passes Root's cotton candy back her and snatches the dog from her hand.

Root' about to say something, but then her eyes glaze over and go unfocused in a familiar way. A few moments later, she directs her attention back to Shaw.

"She's talking to you again?" Shaw asks.

Root nods. "She said that She thought we deserved some time off, with how busy we've been recently. And that She may have miscalculated and – um – well, the gas station might be out of gas."

/

Later in the evening, the two of them are laying side by side on their truck's hood.

Shaw allowed Root to drag her around the fair for about an hour after the Machine called. Then they picked up some supplies at the town's tiny grocery store before walking back out to their truck as the sun was setting.

Root's watching the stars appear one by one overhead, while Shaw watches Root. She's noticed Root becoming a bit uncomfortable, or uncharacteristically quiet at times throughout the day. They're both out of their element a bit, but it seems like something more is going on with her.

"I thought you'd like it here," Shaw says. "Fewer people to put up with."

"I feel a bit exposed here," Root admits. "It's – comforting, I suppose – knowing I can slip into another identity and just vanish amidst everyone. Can't really do that here." She smirks, but it drops quickly. "It reminds of Bishop, a bit," she says quietly.

"Hey," Shaw says, nudging her shoulder, attempting to draw her out of her melancholy mood. Root slowly redirects her attention from the stars to Shaw. "Wanna fuck me on the hood this truck?"

"So romantic," Root drawls sarcastically.

Shaw shrugs, shifts away from her a little. Then, with a flash of movement Shaw can barely track and a thud of her knees on metal, Root's above her. One hand playing with the button of Shaw's jeans, the other sliding up to her neck. Root leans down close to Shaw, her breathing heavy and breath hot next to Shaw's ear as she says "I didn't say no."

/

Eventually, the hood becomes uncomfortable. It's a warm night, with not a cloud nor any bugs in sight, so they don't bother with their tent. They just zip their sleeping together into one then lay it on top of some blankets in the bed of the truck. They crawl into the joined sleeping bag together. After a bit of shifting around to get comfortable, Shaw ends up laying on her back with Root curled against her left side and the little stuffed Bear tucked under right arm.

They're both physically exhausted, though thanks to napping while Root drove earlier Shaw isn't quite ready to sleep yet. She lays on her back, staring up at the stars. It's a sight she rarely sees spending most of her time in the city, and one she never especially cared for. But she's found that she's become used to it over the last week.

"You realize the Machine basically sent us on a cliché small town date, right?" Shaw says, voicing something she's been thinking most of the evening. She speaks softly, to not disturb Root in case she's asleep.

"I s'pose," Root says almost a full minute later. Her sleepy voice is muffled by her face being snuggled up against Shaw's shoulder. "Was still nice. Got to spend the day with you."

Shaw will admit, to herself at least, that it wasn't so bad. But that won't stop her from trying to figure out how to kick the Machine's meddling ass when she gets back to the city.


	6. kept me on my toes

At first, Shaw thinks she's forgotten. That Lambert was right when he said the simulations had overwritten her real memories. When Root brings her to her safe house and says "There's only the one bed. Guess we'll just have to share." That crooked smile is something Shaw knows well. (And god, did she ever miss it.)

But the way the light falls across Root's face, the shadows in the little lines and creases around her mouth, that seems – different. New, maybe. She knows it's not another simulation. Here with Root, for this moment at least, she is certain. The woman in front of her is so very real, so _Root_ , that she knows in some undefinable way that this is reality.

Root notices her staring a little too long, and the smile drops a bit. The play of shadows and light across her face shifts into another pattern that is at once both familiar and unrecognizable. "Guess we will," Shaw says with a hint of challenge in her voice, and Root's mischievous smile is back in full force.

Shaw resolves to remember this. To commit to memory every little detail about Root that she can. To take back what Samaritan stole from her.

/

Though Shaw won't admit it, she's also missed Root's atrocious sense of appropriate timing and her shameless flirting. To try to reassure her by telling her they're just information, to use that same metaphysical bullshit to make a joke about checking out her ass, and to do it all in the middle of a gunfight is such an undeniably Root thing to do. She feels that momentary certainty again, And wonders if Root understands how much this helps her.

She might feel a little turned on too, because of the way Root says _darlin'_ , and because she really does make that two guns at once thing look hot.

/

She purposefully tries to avoid situations that get too close to the simulations. But sometimes they sneak up on her.

The first day after Root's release from the hospital following her brush with death, they're at the park with Bear. Shaw's playing fetch with him, while Root is blatantly staring at her and not even pretending to hide it. Shaw insisted she'd be fine with just her hoodie, and doesn't even notice she's shivering until she sees Root taking off her jacket out of the corner of her eye.

She freezes for just a moment. Then Root slips the jacket around her shoulders and it's nothing at all like the simulations.

The jacket is warm in a way the simulated versions never were, Root's body heat still clinging to it. It surrounds Shaw, along with the subtle scent of the leather and Root's shampoo.

Shaw turns around to face Root, pulling the jacket a little tighter around herself as she does.

Root looks warm and inviting in her bulky sweater and long scarf. The tip of her nose and her cheeks are a rosy pink. Wisps of her hair, painted an almost reddish-gold colour by the late afternoon sun, are blowing across her face in the light breeze.

When she lifts her hand up and stokes her thumb alone Shaw's jawline, something clicks in her mind. Though the action is familiar, the sensation is somehow not. Root has done this many times, both before Shaw's capture and after her return. Yet it feels to Shaw as if she is experiencing the full range of sensations of Root tracing the slightly roughened pad of her thumb over her skin for the very first time.

She never could contain in her memories – and Samaritan could never fully, properly simulate – the totality of Root. She can remember perfectly every moment that's passed between them, know Root as well as she knows anyone, but that still can't encompass it all. There is just _so much_ that Shaw could never hope to hold on to it all. The tiny things that she never missed in their absence, but become so obvious when she sees them. The multitude of little details and nuances and quirks that together make up Root's shape.

And she realizes that she doesn't want to. When she looks at Root, or feels her touch, it gives her context. For just a moment, Root draws a bright, clear line defining reality. This is her safe place. Not a fixed point where she can hide away, but the dynamic moving target that is Root.

Like a one time pad, Root adds her own little bit of chaos to reality, then passes the message along for Shaw to decode.

This will also, Shaw realizes, help her take back what Samaritan took from her. Not her memories, but the moments with Root and the feeling of safety it tried to use against her. Now that she has the real thing in front of her, the simulated Root pales in comparison.

As Shaw pops her arms into the sleeves of Root's jacket, she sees Root's expression shift, hints of confusion and concern creeping in. She's studying Shaw as usual, and has obviously picked up that she's been thinking about something. But she doesn't ask Shaw about it, doesn't push.

"Maybe there's another way I could warm you up?" is all Root says, with a devilish little smirk.

/

Every day the moments when Shaw knows this is real and she's safe come more and more often, and last longer. They eventually become the default, and the moments when she doubts her reality the exception.

And in those moments of doubt, she finds herself touching the spot behind her ear less, and thinking of Root more. Of Root's ridiculous bedhead, of her nose scrunched up after Shaw dabbed some of the bright purple paint she chose for their bedroom on her face, of the way she furrows her brow and clenches her jaw when she's frustrated by an uncooperative computer.

Of the way she groans and sleepily mumbles "What the fuck, Shaw?" when Shaw's tracing of the pattern of scars across Root's arm and shoulder and back with her fingers wakes her up.

/

"If I was an enzyme, I'd be DNA helicase so I could unzip your genes," Root says as they're walking back to the library, after saving a number from a rogue biotech company.

"Why do I even like you?" Shaw asks, though she laughs and bumps her shoulder into Root's as she says it. Root, of course, is beaming at Shaw admitting she likes her of her own free will without any prompting.

"My super smooth pickup lines and my cool leather jacket?"

She says it in her normal flirtatious tone, but there's something about her expression Shaw can't quite put her finger. Some little subtle difference that lets Shaw know she understands. Not just that Shaw appreciates her pickup lines, but her general chaotic Rootness.

"Yeah, that must be it," Shaw says sarcastically, but she doesn't protest when Root slips a hand into her back pocket.


	7. here you're known

It starts in the car on their second date, when Sameen pulls the knife back from Root's neck. When she decides to trust Root – or trust that she's working for the Machine, at least. When she puts the car in gear and follows Root's direction to turn right onto the street.

The sudden shift comes from logic, and Sameen's dedication to her mission. She's still hostile, still confrontational. She acts dismissive when Root passes along the Machine's cryptic commands, but she listens to them.

Root expects this from reading Sameen's file, and knows this is why the Machine wanted them to team up. What she doesn't expect is for the file to be such an accurate reflection of Sameen Shaw. To see the idealized version of her that she's read about come to life in front of her. Throughout their day together she tests Sameen, pushes her and needles her. Root finds she lives up to all of her hopes and expectations, and so much more.

Later, Root will understand that this moment is the tiny pebble that starts the avalanche.

/

Sometimes Root feels off balance around Sameen. Like she's spinning out of control. Like she's not the one taking the initiative and driving things anymore, she's just reacting to Sameen.

So Root flirts with her, throwing out ridiculous pickup lines and over the top come-ons that can't possibly be ignored. It provokes a predictable eye-roll, or the familiar defensiveness. For a while Root feels like she's back on stable ground, feels like she's back in control.

Except, under the hostile and disinterested front Sameen pays attention, even to her flirting. She picks up that Root isn't doing it just to tease her. That Root is honestly intrigued by her and attracted to her and likes to provoke her adorable grumpy frown. Sameen takes in everything Root gives her, even the little bits of honesty she wraps up in irreverent jokes. She listens to and takes time to decode everything Root says.

Root is so used to hiding herself. And to having the little pieces she does let out get ignored. Or get her called crazy, or worse. Someone taking the time to actually understand her is new.

New and wonderful and terrifying.

/

It's not just her words that Sameen pays attention to.

They've ended up at her apartment – Sameen Grey's apartment – after Root dropped in to give Sameen a hand with a number. She's in the tiny kitchen, looking for a frying pan and crouches down to get at the lower cupboard just when Sameen is about to touch her on the shoulder to get her attention. Her hand brushes through Root's hair instead, bumping against her head just behind her right ear.

Root reflexively flinches. She doesn't like people touching that spot, though Sameen is usually an exception. Root stands and faces Sameen, pushing her hair back over her right shoulder and tilting her head a little to expose her implant scar to Sameen.

She steps into Root's space, examining the scar for a moment. Then she's back in front of Root, head tilted up a bit to look right in her eyes. With a single finger, she gently traces the edge of the irritated pink skin around the scar which Root habitually rubs at. Then she slides her hand up to cup around Root's ear, still being careful of the scar. Sameen is so close now that Root can feel her breath against her lips.

Sameen waits a moment, as if asking permission. When Root pushes back against her hand slightly, Sameen threads her fingers through Root's hair and pulls her in for a hard kiss.

/

To Root, there's no one single turning point when she fell in love with Sameen. No hard line dividing her life into a before and an after.

She doesn't see love as a simple true or false variable.

It's in the progression of moments that make up the time she's spent with Sameen. Every mission they've done together, every quiet night with just the two of them, every secret unveiled and connection made. Even the little everyday things, like the way Sameen can read her moods and shows her concern in her own way. And the way she carefully enunciates Root's name.

The accumulation of their shared experiences and the understanding built between them. That's what's important to Root.

/

"Anyway, Schrödinger said that at its base level, the universe isn't made up of physical matter. Just shapes. I thought that might make you feel better."

It's a half-formed thought that she's been mulling over for a while. Something she's been wanting to express to Sameen. Root's pretty sure that from an objective point of view, what she's saying to Sameen is wildly inappropriate on multiple levels. This fact, and the timing, is partly why she thinks Sameen will appreciate this.

She's essentially thinking out loud as she speaks. Not entirely certain if she's properly articulating what she wants to say, but trusting that Sameen will be able to work it out. Talking to herself is something Root's always done when she's working things out, though she rarely lets anyone other than the Machine and Sameen see into the process.

She gets a little distracted by the gunfight, and maybe doesn't completely get across everything she's trying to communicate. But from the incredulous little smile on Sameen's face, she thinks she was successful. The quip about her _great shape_ worked, at least.

/

A week later, Sameen lingers at the door for a moment as she's leaving, and says "Look, I don't care if we're all just shapes or whatever. I like your shape the way it is."

It's not just the admission of concern, of caring for Root. But the way she expresses it in Root's language. That Sameen listens to and understands what she says, and uses it to communicate this back to her. It's such a little thing, but it shows her Sameen truly knows her, and that means everything to Root.


End file.
